i saw you first, it was in a dream
by possibilist
Summary: Or, five times Rachel can't look away from Quinn  and one time she can . Faberry fluff and a little angst, from Prom, post-OMW and future stuff.


summary: Or, five times Rachel can't look away from Quinn (and one time she can). Faberry fluff and a little angst, from Prom, post-OMW and future stuff.

an (1): lovelies, this comes purely from the fact that i'm a really, really romantic person. and also because i'm excited for/dreading the end of the hiatus because i want everything to be about quinn. and rachel. and quinn and rachel. and it won't be. so i'm pretending it will. in my head it is. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this! please leave a review, because i adore them like typewriters and vinyl and tea (which is a lot). thank you! xx

an (2): recommended listening: "ceiling of plankton" by givers.

* * *

><p>i saw you first (it was in a dream)<p>

.

_that's why they cover their eyes. they're not weeping, they can't risk looking at each other. their greatest asset is their greatest curse. they can never be seen. loneliest creatures in the universe. and i'm sorry. i am very, very sorry. it's up to you now._  
>—dr. who<p>

...

one. _watch you spin around in your highest heels, you are the best one of the best ones_

_._

She really is beautiful, just speaking from a purely biological standpoint. Quinn's always been pretty—Rachel's known this since the first time she saw her and a little flutter had occurred somewhere in the vicinity of her appendix—and she has pretty dresses or her Cheerio's uniform on at school, although Rachel's sure that Quinn's probably attractive in pajamas, or sweats.

Or nothing.

Rachel blinks twice, startled at where _that _thought came from, and takes a long sip of punch, closing her eyes and trying to get the image of a _naked _Quinn Fabray out of her mind.

But too soon the punch has been drained from the little plastic cup, and Rachel's drawn to Quinn's blue dress and dainty wrists and the gardenias tied there, with the ribbon that does indeed match her eyes. Which look especially green tonight.

Quinn smiles at something Finn says—halfheartedly, though, because when Quinn really smiles her eyes crinkle a little—and this is one of Rachel's favourite things in the world.

So it's logical to notice the difference.

.

Rachel almost _cannot _believe that she got slapped. Almost, but then Quinn's voice is so low and so broken when she apologises immediately after, Rachel brings her fingers to her cheek to make sure the stinging is real, but at the same time her eyes follow Quinn's horrified face.

And then Quinn is crying, because really Quinn is just _terrified._

Rachel straightens Quinn's makeup, focusing on not kissing those very kissable lips right in front of her, especially when Quinn's eyelids flutter closed and she leans into Rachel's touch.

"C'mon," Rachel says, taking Quinn's hand and squeezing. "The night's young."

Quinn laughs a little and rolls her eyes, but she squeezes once before taking her hand away.

.

This is the first time they dance together, outside of a performance, of course.

Rachel's face is still tingling, but so are her fingers, and, when Quinn spins around and around and around so that Rachel's mind is dizzy, and then Quinn's eyes crinkle in a smile, Rachel's not sure if any of this is real.

They say goodbye quickly after the dance, because Quinn has an early curfew, and Rachel watches her drive away and wonders what it would be like to hold her hand.

It's not that hard to imagine, and the thought makes Rachel smile.

.

two. _then if my heart should somehow stop, i'll hang on to the hope that you're not too late_

.

Quinn literally flings up her arms in joy as Rachel wheels her into a courtyard off one exit of the hospital. Rachel grins before Quinn groans and yanks them back down, mumbling a frustrated _fuck _before Rachel can properly stop the wheelchair and rush to the front.

"Are you okay?"

Quinn's cradling her left arm with her right, pressing it up against her ribs, her eyes skewed in obvious pain. "I'm an idiot," she says through gritted teeth.

"Quinn," Rachel says. She sighs and takes a step closer so that she can run a gentle hand through Quinn's fantastically soft hair.

Quinn leans into the gesture unabashedly now, and seems to gain control of her pain because she opens her eyes a few seconds later, relaxing slightly.

Rachel smiles fully then, and Quinn does, too.

"God, it's been ages since I've been outside." Quinn reaches out and tugs a blossom off of a nearby bush, tucking it behind her ear.

Rachel sits on a bench beside Quinn's wheelchair, and now holding hands seems second-nature.

"What?" Quinn asks.

Rachel's head jerks up from her intense studying of Quinn's long, graceful fingers. "What?"

_That _eyebrow shoots up.

Rachel feels herself blush. "Nothing. It's just—I—"

"Our hands fit," Quinn says, then leans towards Rachel slightly.

Rachel turns and her mouth is just _so close _to Quinn's, and _Would it be all right if I kissed you now? _seems to appear like a ghost on her tongue before she even has time to process it.

But Quinn's _Yes _floats out to meet it, and then their breath is the same.

Rachel's never felt anything remotely like it.

.

(Quinn's fingerprints are everywhere. Rachel feels them on her skin and in the tantalizingly soft blond hair against her neck and like that one time when she brushed her finger over the flickering flame of a candle, almost slowly enough so it burned. She sees them on sheet music and homework assignments and perfect noses and one tiny scar along a lean, tan forearm. She hears them in the rain, in the wind, in the sun, or in the click of ankle boots or oxford wedges against linoleum, or in her own lungs. She tastes them in strawberries and French toast and Earl Grey tea with steamed milk and vanilla—Quinn's favourites—against her own lips. She smells them whenever she walks by anywhere that serves bacon, and whenever she smells sandalwood and oranges, coconut shampoo. And her mind spins in that way that makes her exhausted, because she's trying desperately to reconcile the fact—hard, irrefutable evidence—that Quinn could have died, with the other fact she can no longer deny that there is no way that Rachel can imagine one ounce of the world without Quinn in it.)

_._

Rachel doesn't want to leave that night (or ever), and she bribes the nurse with a caramel machiato to allow her to spend two extra hours with Quinn.

Rachel tries to process everything as the nurses help Quinn back into bed. She tries, very hard, to close her eyes and picture a life with Finn.

But all of that has evaporated like smoke, it turns out, because when she pictures herself in New York, she also pictures herself making bi-monthly weekend trips to New Haven. When she imagines winning her first Tony, or Emmy, or Grammy, or Oscar, she sees Quinn on her arm. She sees an Upper West Side penthouse with their children's crayon drawings on the fridge and summers in the Hamptons and spontaneous trips to Paris.

Last year in AP Physics class, they'd learned about this zone of being between turbulence and order. Where no rules apply. Or where, at least, they hadn't been figured out yet.

These are her dreams, Rachel realizes. And Quinn is maybe a rule—a law, an essential component—that she has just happened to figure out.

.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Rachel promises, although Quinn's already asleep and has been for a good twenty minutes now. The nurse clears her throat, but it's with a small smile.

"When I come back in—" she checks her watch— "two minutes to change Quinn's meds, you need to be gone."

Rachel nods.

"She's beautiful," the nurse says, then leaves silently.

Rachel cries a little then, and she's glad Quinn's asleep because Rachel's just so _full _right now probably an awake Quinn would push her over some unknown precipice of embarrassing excess emotion.

There's not really much for Rachel to say—they talked earlier: Rachel liked Quinn; Quinn liked Rachel, a _lot_; Quinn promised a real date after she got better—so she settles for something simple.

"Goodnight, Quinn," she says, then kisses Quinn's forehead. "Sleep well. I'll dream of you."

And she does, without even having to try.

...

three. _you've got a mouth full of diamonds (and a pocketful of secrets)_

.

It feels _really _awkward to be here, but Quinn had wanted her to be, so Rachel comes, no questions asked. She's been in Puck's room, like, three times before, but never with Quinn _and _Puck.

"Sit down," Quinn says, directing Puck to his bed with a slightly disdainful grimace.

"If this is about that one time Junior year when I—"

"—_Puck_," Quinn says, and Rachel kind of loves it when she sounds so powerful, "it has nothing to do with you doing anything."

He nods slowly.

Quinn smooths the hem of her dress, one she'd bought in New York when she'd visited in Rachel in November. They'd both come back to Lima for Christmas break.

Quinn takes a deep breath, then sits down beside Puck, takes his hand. "I'm telling you before anyone else, because I want you to know first. I'm telling Shelby tomorrow, but I think you deserve to know first."

Puck's eyes grow large. "Are you sick? Oh, God. Are you dying?"

"What? No." Quinn laughs. "I'm gay."

Puck smiles like he's about to laugh, but then he seems to grasp that it's not a joke. "You're_ gay_," he whispers, like he's just had a revelation.

"Yes."

"You _are _gay!" he says.

Quinn's shoulders slump. "It was that obvious?"

Puck hugs Quinn then, kisses her temple. "What's that word, when you're thinking about, like, yesterday and shit—"

"—Retrospectively," Quinn supplies.

Puck nods. "Yeah, that. Anyways, yes."

"Oh."

Puck looks at Rachel then, and seems to remember that she's in the room, too. Then he looks back at Quinn, who bites her lip, then at Rachel, who can feel heat rush to her cheeks, and then back at Quinn. He gulps at the air. "You—you a-and—"

"—Rachel, yes."

Rachel's honestly never seen Puck smile so big. "That is _so fucking hot_."

Quinn laughs, then Rachel laughs, then Puck laughs.

"Can you guys kiss for me?"

"Noah!"

"_Puck_."

He pretends to be injured from Quinn's playful slap against his arm.

Quinn tries to gain control of the conversation again and Rachel just thinks it's adorable when she steels herself. "I'm telling you because I want Beth to grow up knowing who I really am. I don't want to lie to her." She looks down. "I—I want her to be proud of me."

Puck's face softens, and he takes his fingers and puts them to the bottom of Quinn's chin gently, so their eyes meet. "She's going to be so proud of you."

Quinn sniffs and Rachel knows that tears are threatening to fall down her cheeks. "I'm really happy."

Puck smiles, kisses Quinn's forehead. "I can tell."

.

Rachel doesn't go with them to tell Shelby, but when Quinn rings the doorbell at Rachel's house after, later that night, and when Rachel opens the door, Quinn looks like she's visibly standing taller, like she's breathing deeper.

Her smile is the brightest thing Rachel may have ever seen, and, even though it's obvious that Quinn's been crying, Rachel's pretty sure that Quinn's never looked so peaceful.

So proud.

"Shelby was wonderful," she says, and Rachel engulfs her in an embrace.

Quinn cries a little more, on the porch, her shoulders shaking against Rachel's. The little lamp flickers in the night. Snow begins to flutter against their skin.

Rachel looks up and then Quinn does too, and Quinn closes her eyes and heaves a breath, and Rachel sees snowflakes catch on Quinn's eyelashes.

In that moment, Rachel's certain it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

...

four. _all this time with your heart in your mind_

_._

"I can't believe you got nominated for an Oscar before me," Rachel says.

Quinn's laughter is muffled into the pillow, but Rachel knows her eyebrow is shooting up, too. "Thanks _so_ much, babe," Quinn says.

Rachel sits back against Quinn's thighs, stilling. Partly because Quinn is currently lying on her stomach, naked beneath Rachel, and currently because Rachel is supposed to be giving Quinn a relaxing massage, and mostly because Quinn's back still hurts a lot sometimes and Rachel knows she needs to _calm down _and be gentle.

"You know I don't mean it like that, Quinn."

"I know," Quinn says. "Keep going."

Rachel leans forward again, pressing into the soft skin and strong, taut muscles around Quinn's shoulder blades, which elicits a quiet moan from her girlfriend. "I'm really, really, really proud of you. And your screenplay, of course."

"Thank you," Quinn grunts as Rachel's fingers work their way down her spine. "You already have two Tony's, and a Grammy. I wouldn't feel too bad."

Rachel kisses Quinn's left shoulder blade once, gently, and then resumes her massage. "You should win tomorrow, you know. It's the best." Rachel gets to the rope of scar tissue that runs, thin and rough, down the bottom half of Quinn's spine, brushes her fingers against it, then draws circles around the two little dimples at the base of Quinn's back.

Quinn shivers. "You're just saying that because you're my girlfriend."

Rachel takes all ten fingers and presses them into the place on Quinn's lower back that's especially tender, where it had broken _years _ago and almost healed completely, and pushes hard enough so that she knows it hurts Quinn just a little bit. Quinn's strangled moan and fingers digging into white sheets make Rachel smile. "I'm saying that because it's true."

.

On the red carpet, Quinn tucks Rachel into her side and gives candid, happy interviews. They've been openly together since college, and now they're twenty-four, so not many bother to ask Quinn questions about it.

But one interviewer smiles and asks Quinn to explain a little more about a recent LGBTQ event she and Rachel went to, and Quinn beams. "I spent a really long time hating the person I wanted to be, you know," she says, then kisses Rachel's cheek. "So many people helped me get through those tough years, and now—" if Quinn's eyes were hands, Rachel would be naked on live, international television, she's certain— "look at the amazing opportunities I've gotten."

The interviewer says, "You are a pretty lucky woman."

Quinn smiles innocently, but her voice is wonderfully husky. "You have no idea."

.

Rachel cries ten times more than Quinn does when she wins, but seeing Quinn up there on stage, beaming, accepting her _Oscar _with incredible grace and humour and wit just fills her chest with life.

Rachel couldn't look away even if she wanted.

_..._

five. _and when the sun, it shines in her hair of gold, she's beautiful, she's beautiful_

.

It's a simple thing that Rachel happens upon, but it takes her breath away. Which really doesn't happen very often, if she's being honest—her lung capacity is outrageous.

They're on one of these spontaneous trips to Paris that Rachel had imagined all those years ago, and Rachel had five days off before her next project began.

They're twenty-five now, and they'd taken the red eye from JFK. Rachel had gone to buy some macaroons from the little bakery down the street from their Right Bank hotel, and Quinn had stayed to unpack a few of their things.

It's afternoon in Paris, now, the sun just beginning to dip below a haze. Rachel can see the Eiffel Tower starting to twinkle as she walks into their little kitchen, placing the macaroons and a bouquet of gardenias she'd bought from a street vendor on the thin, marble countertop.

And then she glances into their bedroom and literally _stops _breathing when she sees Quinn's taken all of her clothes off and sprawled across the fluffy, white duvet covering the bed. Her hair looks like literal gold in the waning light outside.

It would be the most intensely erotic and romantic thing ever if Quinn was actually awake, but Rachel has to laugh a little when she sees Quinn's closed eyes. It's not feigned sleep, either (Quinn likes to surprise Rachel, so she's learned Quinn's breathing patterns, which Quinn claims is creepy but Rachel claims is only fair), because Quinn's chest moves much too deeply, and her features are incredibly peaceful. Rachel puts the flowers in a vase and takes off her coat, goes to sit on the bed next to Quinn.

It's then when she notices the glint of something gold and bright in Quinn's clenched, outstretched hand, and Rachel's heart rockets to somewhere a few stories above them.

It's a ring, she can tell—18 carat yellow gold, a classic Tiffany's setting, 1.5 carat round diamond, (priced from $20,000)—and she knows this because it's the one she'd _specifically _shown to Kurt, only days before.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers—she can't help herself—and then Quinn startles awake.

She looks around and then at her hand, then at Rachel, then clenches her fingers around the ring, trying to hide it in her palm.

"Shit, shit, shit," she murmurs.

"Quinn," Rachel says again.

Quinn's eyes fill with tears and she sits up, buries her face in her hands. "I had this big perfect speech planned and I was going to get down on one knee and everything, and—Paris!, you'd love that sappy gesture—and Kurt even helped me write part of a song and I wasn't sure if—"

"—Quinn."

Quinn looks at Rachel.

"Yes," Rachel says.

Quinn's entire face lights up.

Rachel laughs, and Rachel cries. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Even without the speech!" Quinn shakily puts the ring on Rachel's finger, beaming. "I must be a pretty talented sleeper."

"I love you," Rachel says.

"You're going to be my wife," Quinn says, kissing Rachel gently.

"You're going to be _my _wife."

Quinn laughs, cupping Rachel's cheek.

"And in the future, proposing to me naked is completely unfair."

"Backup is never unfair."

Rachel grins, kisses Quinn again, runs her hand along the short, soft hairs at the base of Quinn's neck. "Quinn?"

"Hmmm?"

"Go look in the bouquet of gardenias on the counter."

"What?"

Rachel rolls her eyes—something she's perfected because of Quinn—and says, "Just do it."

Rachel waits exactly twenty-two and a half seconds before Quinn squeals. "This is the ring Itold Santana _I_ wanted!"

"I'm really quite angry you beat me to it," Rachel says, and Quinn rushes back into the bedroom, launching herself at Rachel.

They start laughing, really, _really _laughing.

"God, we really are perfect for each other," Quinn gasps.

"I had a speech too."

"I'm sure you did."

"And a song."

"You can sing it to me anytime, you know."

Rachel sticks out her left hand, and Quinn meets it in the air with hers, and they both stare at the diamonds on their ring fingers with silly smiles.

"We're engaged," Rachel says.

"We're getting married," Quinn says.

And then somehow Quinn's managed to get all of Rachel's clothes off _really fast_ (which is totally fine), and she has the brilliant idea to see how macaroons taste on Rachel's skin.

Quinn's teeth grazing between her breasts, the tickle of Quinn's hair, her skin and voice and eyes, they're _real_.

Rachel fists her hands in Quinn's hair, and Quinn says her name and then kisses her, and she tastes like macaroons and _Quinn _and Paris and dreams, materialized.

...

six. _while men are dreaming, they know it not a dream (or am i asleep by your side)_

.

The first time Beth gets to visit Alice is in New York, when Beth gets to visit at the beginning of summer break. Beth is twelve, and Alice is two months (seventeen days, eight hours, and thirty-nine minutes) old.

It's pretty amazing, because Beth looks _so much _like Quinn, and Alice looks so much like Quinn _and _Beth, and when they're all together, Beth tucked into Quinn's side, Quinn's hand brushing absentmindedly through Beth's long blond hair, both of them are completely enraptured with Alice, and it floors Rachel.

"Did I look like her?" Beth asks.

Quinn nods. "She looks just like you."

Beth grins. "She's beautiful, Quinn, Rach. Really, really beautiful."

"Thanks," Quinn says.

"She is," Rachel says, and Beth looks to her.

There's a part of Beth that's _nothing _like Quinn used to be, all those years ago, because Beth is warm and smart and funny and confident and fearless.

"You guys are going to be amazing moms," Beth says, and Rachel watches Quinn stiffen and her eyes close in hurt, and Rachel almost goes to rest against the arm of the couch and kiss the top of Quinn's head, but then Beth stands and carefully hands Alice to Rachel before turning around.

She hugs Quinn tightly, her face pressed into Quinn's stomach.

"You already are an amazing mom, Quinn," Beth says. "Because, you know, like, you wanted everything for me and you weren't ready. Mom and I talked a lot about it before I came and—" Beth steps back, and she's crying, and Rachel can tell that Quinn's trying not to sob— "I understand. I'm not mad. I love you."

One of Quinn's hands covers her mouth and the tears flow freely down her cheeks, and the other arm wraps Beth into her once more.

"And you guys are totally famous, so that's cool," Beth says, muffled against Quinn's shirt.

Quinn laughs a little, an ungraceful thing coupled with crying but Rachel thinks it's still cute.

"Rachel's way more famous than I am," Quinn says.

"True." Beth squirms a little under Quinn's arm so she can look at Rachel, and when a singular eyebrow arches Rachel thinks she might actually drop Alice. "But you both still have Wikipedia pages."

They all end up laughing, and laughing, and Quinn stops crying.

"Does she always cry like this?" Beth asks, although it's done with a teasing smile.

Quinn says, "It's still the hormones."

Rachel says, "Yes."

.

Rachel goes to tuck Beth in while Quinn feeds Alice.

"You're super in love, huh?"

"Yeah," Rachel says. She smiles. Beth smiles. "We are."

"That's perfect," she says, then turns over, messing up the blankets, spreading her arms wide, sandwiching her face into a pillow. Just like Quinn.

Rachel rubs Beth's back. "It meant so much to Quinn, what you said today."

"Well I meant it." Her voice sounds sleepy.

"Goodnight, Beth," Rachel says, then kisses the top of her head. "Sleep well. Sweet dreams."

.

That night, Rachel dreams of her family, but they're not _really_ dreams. Because Quinn, and Alice—and Beth—are still there when she wakes up.

* * *

><p>references. (all of these are specifically devoted to feeling all of the most heartbreaking, perfect faberry feels. ever.)<p>

title. "Saw You First" by Givers.  
>[quote. WATCH DR. WHO. :)]<br>one. "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional.  
>two. "And If My Heart Should Somehow Stop" by James Vincent McMorrow.<br>three. "Mouthful of Diamonds" by Phantogram.  
>four. "Hinnom, TX" by Bon Iver.<br>five. "Bella" by Angus and Julia Stone.  
>six. "While Men Are Dreaming" by Jenny and Johnny.<p> 


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